I Can’t Write Today

I Can’t Write Today

Now, you may be asking a question in your head, “But aren’t you writing right now?” Yes, I am technically writing right now. I mean, I can’t telepathically get words to appear on my computer screen, although, I do have Dragon Naturally Speaking and I could dictate words to the computer screen, but I’m not feeling the whole talking thing today. When I say I’m not feeling the whole talking thing, I’m really not feeling the whole talking thing.

I’m saying that I can’t put the effort in today that I would usually put into writing. I’m trying to finish up the Sherlock Holmes stories and I just can’t face it today. The Sherlock stories have been a struggle for me as it is, but today I’m feeling like crap and I don’t feel like doing the research involved in a Sherlock story. I really don’t care to look up facts and maps today. I don’t care to write about two disembodied ears, because, yes, that is coming up. The next Sherlock story involves something of Van Gogh proportions.

I just can’t do it. I really, really want to finish up with Sherlock and then write my summary posts about the whole experience, but, you know,……ehhhh.

I’ve hit a low spot, while I’m doing awesome with Nanowrimo, yes, I’m doing that this year, my adventures with Sherlock have stagnated and I’m not reading other books at a voracious pace. I’ve been tweeting about it, you know, for all I know about Twitter. I mean, I’ve been tweeting about Nanowrimo, I haven’t been tweeting about being fed up with the world of Sherlock.

I just want it to be over. The project has been a big project. I’ve had to do a lot of research on all kinds of random things. I never thought I would ever know so much about Sherlock Holmes. Before he had just been that weird dude who said, “Elementary, my dear Watson,” and smoked a pipe and wore a funny hat. Yeah, well as it turns out, he never says, “Elementary, my dear Watson.” He smokes like a chimney, pretty much anything he can get his hands on. I guess Marijuana wasn’t in England at the time, otherwise he would have been smoking that too. He does drugs. He doesn’t wear a stupid hat. He does like hats, but he doesn’t wear that stupid hat.

To top off all of my angst over Sherlock, I just plain feel like crap. I’m jittery and I just can’t face all the darn research. No, I’m not going through any type of withdrawal or some similar struggle, although, maybe it is a good time to try to quit Diet Coke again. We’ll see.

I just don’t have the physical and mental stamina needed to write a Sherlock post today. So it’s not going to happen. You’re getting this rant.

Watson’s wife just lets him go everywhere. I mean, he’s a grown man, but he’s always hanging out with Sherlock and they do seem a little bit too close. You know, I watched this stupid Youtube video. It was a spoof of the Sherlock stories and the Sherlock television show. In this spoof, Sherlock didn’t solve crimes, he just figured out if people were gay or not. It was hilarious. At the end John and Sherlock kiss, because of course they do. We look at John and Sherlock and their friendship from a modern-day perspective and we’re like, “Um, yeah, maybe gay,” not that it’s a bad thing, I’m sure they’d be very happy together, if one could be happy with Sherlock Holmes.

Why does he keep sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong? Sherlock is literally the worst busy-body I have encountered in a while. All someone has to do is say the words, “I can’t figure it out,” and then Sherlock is on that like…um…flies on honey, I was going to use something a little more descriptive, but I changed my mind, it was going to include something about something being in heat. He just can’t contain himself. It’s like some sort of strange addiction.

Oh, my gosh! I’ve got to solve it! I have to do it! Please don’t make me stay here. I’m going to look in windows. I’m going to read telegrams that aren’t mine. I’m going to follow people. I’m going to pay street urchins to spy on people. I’m going to look at their tobacco ash. I’m going to get right in the middle of marital issues that aren’t violent and are simply a case of one person needing to mind their own darned business. I’m going to find out all the secrets of the housewives in all of England!

I, mean, really, he’s got a problem. He couldn’t live a normal life for anything. Mr. Holmes we’ll give you a million pounds a year, that’s a lot back in the late 1800s, if you just do nothing. Be a normal guy. Read the newspaper, take up a few hobbies, that aren’t making meth, and just relax. He couldn’t do it. He would blow it in two days, the situation, not the money; he doesn’t seem to spend money unless it’s on drugs.

Part of me just wants to reach through my Kindle and slap the man, after I told him to shut up and mind his own business.

So yeah, I need another mini-break from Sherlock, and, no, I can’t write about him today more than I already have.

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Published by Ashe

I always said my dream job would be to get paid for sitting in a corner and drawing all day long. Now, I have to ammend that idea of my dream job. I think I would like to sit in a corner and be able to get paid for drawing and writing.
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